


The Fire at the Heart of the World

by fanfoolishness (LoonyLupin), LoonyLupin



Series: Ouroboros: Aodhan Trevelyan X Dorian Pavus [6]
Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Chant of Light, Circle of Magi, M/M, Mages and Templars, Ostwick Circle, Rite of Tranquility
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-11 13:20:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7053379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/fanfoolishness, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/LoonyLupin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aodhan Trevelyan has always been a good mage.  However, even a good mage has his limits; a former templar is the one to test them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Dismal Place

Aodhan stood wearily over the corpse of a behemoth.  It stank of red lyrium, a biting, acrid smell that reminded him of iron and decay.  He caught his breath and looked to Cullen, who approached the large door to the temple’s vestibule. **  
**

They hadn’t expected this; hadn’t expected the Shrine of Dumat aflame, its secrets and stories already burning.  They had expected the red templars they’d fought off, the wretches falling to Cullen’s blade and the combined spells of Dorian, Aodhan, and Vivienne.  Varric’s arrows provided backup.  It seemed such a waste to have already found Samson’s base destroyed.

“We were too late,” said Aodhan, defeated.

“I don’t know how he knew we were coming,” said Cullen testily, keeping his sword in hand.  “Still, though, there may be something they’ve left behind.  We should search the area for an indication of what they did here.”  He looked to the others, who nodded.  “The Inquisitor and I will search this area for Maddox,” continued Cullen.  “If the rest of you can find anything, anything at all, that pertains to Samson and his armor, perhaps we will be successful.”  He pushed open the large door, and Aodhan followed, staff at the ready.  

The vestibule was dim, lit only with a few small torches and the unholy light of red lyrium creeping out of the ground.  Aodhan narrowed his eyes, spying a prone figure at a statue’s base.  “There!”

They hurried, Aodhan stopping a few feet away when he realized the man wore mage’s robes.  Cullen knelt beside the man, concern on his face.

“Hello, Inquisitor,” said the man.  He was frail, his arms resting over his stomach, his face pallid.

“You know me?” Aodhan asked in surprise.

“It’s Maddox,” said Cullen, frowning.  “Samson’s Tranquil.”

Aodhan winced at the phrasing.   _He **belongs** to Samson, does he? _ he thought, but did not say.

“Something’s wrong.  I’ll send for the healers,” said Cullen.  He reached out toward Maddox as if to touch him, but drew away at the last moment, his outstretched hand tightening into a fist.

“That will not be necessary, Knight-Captain Cullen,” said Maddox.  Aodhan could see it himself now; what he had mistaken for Tranquil lack of emotion was really profound lethargy.  “I drank my entire supply of blightcap essence.  It won’t be long now.”

Aodhan knelt down beside Cullen.  “Why would you do that?” he asked softly.  “We know Samson’s been using you.  We only wanted to question you, to see if you could help us.  You could have escaped with us.”

“We would not have hurt you, Maddox,” said Cullen.  “I would not have.”

Maddox simply shook his head.  “I could not allow you to ask.  I wished to protect him.  That is why I destroyed the camp with fire,” he said, one hand curling around his midsection as if it pained him.  “We all agreed it was best.”

“And who was _we_?” asked Aodhan, staring hard at the man’s red sunburst brand stark between his brows.   _Could you have agreed to anything?_ he thought, feeling sick.  There had been few Tranquil in Ostwick, few enough that Aodhan could avoid them.  It was the response of most of the mages; none of them liked to see what could, if things went wrong, become themselves.

“The other followers of General Samson.  Our deaths ensured he had time to escape.”

“You threw your lives away?” asked Cullen in disgust.  “For Samson?  Why?”

The blood pounded in Aodhan’s ears.  Their lives were _already_ gone, weren’t they?  He didn’t know what to think.  He thought of Helisma, working diligently on their research with animals, every day the same.  Clemence, fashioning new alchemical formulas, but never smiling, never relaxing.  They were alive, but who had they been before?  Who was Maddox?  Those people were _gone_ , sundered from their own souls.

He’d just been a man with a sweetheart, Cullen had said.  Passing letters.

And that small transgression combined with a templar’s friendship was enough reason for him to breathe shallowly, sweat beading on his face, involuntary grimaces working his cheeks and lips.  The man had had a sweetheart, and this was his punishment.

Aodhan realized Maddox was speaking again.  It was with a greater effort now.  “Samson saved me,” gasped Maddox.  “Even before he needed me.  He gave me purpose again.”  His eyelids fluttered.  “I… wanted to help…”  
  


Aodhan waited for him to finish speaking.  Then he realized; Maddox’s eyes dimmed, his mouth slackening.  He was gone.

Aodhan straightened up and crossed his arms over his chest, hugging himself as if cold.  He wasn’t cold, though.  So why was he shivering?

“Inquisitor?” asked Cullen, getting to his feet.  He shook his head, exhausted.  “This wasn’t right,” he murmured.  “It is a dismal place to die.”

“We can’t leave Maddox here,” said Aodhan hurriedly.  “He should be laid properly to rest.”

Cullen seemed distracted.  Aodhan supposed his thoughts were full of Samson and red lyrium, their next move on the chessboard.  “I’ll have someone take care of it.”

“Take care of it?  As if putting him to rest is a chore?  Doesn’t this bother you?” snapped Aodhan.  

“That’s not what I – Yes, of course it bothers me.  Maddox didn’t deserve this,” said Cullen defensively.  “I’d hoped we could free him.”

“Samson shouldn’t have known we were coming.  We could have saved him.”  Aodhan’s eyes flicked over the sunburst brand again.  He felt nauseated.  “I’ve never –”  He swallowed.  “I’ve never heard of a Tranquil committing suicide.”

Cullen considered, hands on his hips, gazing at the red lyrium erupting from the ground as if it had answers for him.  “I have seen it in mages,” he said reluctantly.  “But never in Tranquil.  It seems that Samson somehow inspired such loyalty that this was the most logical solution that Maddox could arrive at.”

“Did you see a lot of them, then?” asked Aodhan.  He was shivering more now, a nasty, roiling sensation worse in his legs and belly.  He shifted his weight from foot to foot, trying to hide it.

“Of what?”

“Mages.  Committing suicide,” Aodhan said in a low voice.  “You – you said you saw terrible things in Kirkwall.  You said the Knight-Commander was mad –”  He jerked his head toward Maddox’s body, which was slowly shifting, sliding toward the ground.  “You told me mages were made Tranquil for far less.  Far less than love letters!”

“Inquisitor, are you all right?” asked Cullen.  “Are you wounded?  You’re trembling.  We should have Vivienne check you –”

“ _No_ ,” growled Aodhan.  He felt a rising panic, something clawing at him and threatening to escape.  Words flooded out of him, and he tried to keep them from veering into hysteria.  “I’m not injured.  But I am curious, _Knight-Captain_ , how many people in Kirkwall shared Maddox’s fate.  People who can no longer remember who they used to be.  People who could be easily led, easily _swayed,_ because of what was done to them.  How many Samsons are out there, taking advantage of people like Maddox?”

“Inquisitor,” said Cullen, biting out each word, “that is _not_ my title.  I am your commander; I am _not_ Knight-Captain.”  For a moment he looked dangerous, eyes glinting with a reddish tinge in the crimson light of the hall.  Then he bit his lip, shaking his head.  “I can see you’re greatly distressed by this.  And you have the right to know more of my history, if it is important to you.  I can give you the name of every mage sentenced to Tranquility during my time in Kirkwall, much as it pains me; Knight-Commander Meredith used the punishment far more than she should have, and ultimately many did not deserve it.  But can’t you see?  Maddox’s death is one more reason why we need to bring Samson to justice.  That is our true enemy, Inquisitor.”

Aodhan breathed deeply, willing himself to remain calm.  He took in Cullen’s appearance, the set of the other man’s shoulders, the wary expression, and he remembered – _He’s not your friend.  He is a templar._  No, not anymore, not truly; but enough of one that Aodhan could not let him see his rage.   _Avoid their gaze.  Keep your head down.  Be a good mage, and you’ll get through it._ How many times had he told himself those words?

“You’re right,” said Aodhan, amazed that he could keep the quaver from his voice.   _Don’t let him see._  “Samson’s what we need to focus on.  Forgive my outburst, Commander.”  He ducked his head in deference, an action that he had forgotten as of late but still felt familiar, like an old pair of boots.  Inside, he boiled.

He could see the relief easing into Cullen’s stance, the way his hand loosened on his sword hilt.  “I understand, Inquisitor.  There’s no need to ask my pardon.  It’s… a difficult topic.  We can discuss it at length when we return, if you wish.”  Cullen knelt again, reaching out to Maddox to gently close the man’s eyelids.  “For now, we will see him taken care of.”

He had succeeded in reducing Cullen’s wariness, but he still felt sick, still felt the urge to lash out.  He was not certain if he could tamp it down fully, now that he was no longer confined to the Circle. _I’m a free man_ , he thought bitterly.   _I should not have to hide!_  If he could just be alone for a moment…

The door to the chamber opened with a loud _creak_ , and both men turned their heads.  

Dorian stood at the entrance.  “Varric and Vivienne have found something.  You’d best see if this could be useful.”  He paused, taking in the scene before him.  “Everything all right?”

“Dorian,” called Aodhan suddenly.  “Please come and help Commander Cullen move this man.  He needs to be laid to rest.”  As Dorian approached, Aodhan turned to Cullen.  He felt dizzy with the effort of holding himself back.  He mustered a cool smile, though his eyes remained tight.  “I’ll be along shortly, Commander.  I would like a few moments to myself.  It has been a difficult day.”  He clapped Cullen carefully on the shoulder, though he felt like recoiling.   _Don’t let him see,_ he thought again.

Cullen nodded.  “Take the time you need, Inquisitor.  Should you need to talk at Skyhold, I will be there for a full debriefing.  Whatever it is you need, I shall provide.”

_Leave me_ , thought Aodhan.   _Get out of my sight.  Before I –_

“Thank you,” said Aodhan calmly.  

Before Dorian reached him, Aodhan sidled past Cullen, past the red lyrium formations, into a drafty little bedchamber.  Ice began to form over his fingertips and up his knuckles, coruscating in the dim light.  He forced himself to wait until he could hear Dorian and Cullen leaving, waited until their footsteps could no longer be heard and the sound of the door closing registered in his ears.

Aodhan breathed in.   _Beat._

He breathed out.   _Beat._

He reached for his staff, fingers clenching on the grip, knuckles whitening beneath the ice sheathing them.  He opened himself to the Fade, and he began to scream.


	2. Allowed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aodhan crumbles, and Dorian is unsure if the pieces can be put back together again.

Dorian huffed with effort.  Together he and Cullen laid down the dead Tranquil man’s body in the antechamber, taking care to find a smooth place free of rubble to set him down.  Vivienne sighed, watching them. **  
**

“The poor soul.  Did he fight you?”

“No,” said Cullen, who was paler than normal.  “He poisoned himself rather than let us question him.”

Varric peered down at the man.  “I think I’ve seen him before.  You said he was one of Kirkwall’s mages?”

Cullen nodded.  “Meredith signed the order for Tranquility a few years ago.  I had hoped we could provide him refuge with the Inquisition.  Instead, it seemed he would rather die than allow Samson to be taken prisoner.”

“What a life,” mused Varric.  “Look, you’ll forgive me for saying so – ah, no, you won’t.  But there was some really awful shit that went on in that Circle, Curly.  Hawke was always worried she’d end up there.”

“I think Carver might have beaten anyone who tried to capture her to a bloody pulp,” said Cullen, arching an eyebrow.  “They may not have gotten along, but he certainly was protective of her, I’ll give him that.”

“Hang on,” said Dorian, only half paying attention to their conversation.  “Where’s the Inquisitor?”

“He was distressed,” said Cullen.  He scrubbed at his face with one hand.  “I’m afraid Maddox’s death hit him hard.  He was dismayed by what I had told him of the Circle in Kirkwall.  He wished for a few moments to collect himself.”

“Do you think that is wise?” Vivienne asked silkily.

“Just what are you implying, Madame de Fer?” said Dorian.  “Are you suggesting he can’t be trusted to be alone?”

Varric shrugged.  “Freckles just needs some time.  He’ll be all right.  Circle shit hits him, now and then.  I’ve seen it before.”

Cullen nodded.  “It is understandable.  I’m upset myself at what happened here today –”

A crash from the inner chambers made them turn, followed by muffled shouting.  Dorian’s stomach sank.  “ _Kaffas_ ,” said Dorian, and ran back the way he had come, his staff in hand.  He tried to open the door to the vestibule, but it merely creaked and groaned when he tried to push on it.  Frozen, he suspected, and pushed a small slice of flame through the door and the wall.  Water pooled beneath his feet from the melting ice, and the door slid open when he pushed it forward.

He nearly slipped on an icy patch over the stairs.  When he caught himself, he stared, aghast, at Aodhan in the center of the room.

He’d never seen the other man like this.  His staff whirled wildly, directing sheets of ice encasing the walls, the statues, the red lyrium itself.  Ice glyphs criss-crossed the room, marking hazards with every step.  Storm clouds brewed above him in the vestibule, spewing bitter winds that crashed around the room, making it hard to hear the redheaded man in the eye of the storm, bellowing wordlessly into the air.

“Aodhan!” Dorian cried, but the wind snatched away the name before he’d finished saying it.  He gripped his staff and pulled on his mana, flinging out one arm to float a dispelling field over the worst of the clouds.  The glimmering energy of his spell cut through the storm as if it was spun gossamer, collapsing the wind currents around them, leaving the room suddenly breathless.  Half of the ice glyphs vanished beneath the last vestiges of the spell.

Dorian charged toward Aodhan, taking advantage of the becalmed room.  He was still a few yards away when Aodhan realized it was him.

“Leave me alone, Dorian!” he yelled, his hand ripping _through_ the air and sending a massive stonefist at a cluster of frozen red lyrium, shattering it into pieces.  Dorian ducked out of the way of the shrapnel, hearing it clatter to the ground as it missed him by a foot.

“What are you doing?  If you’re trying to make a scene, you’ve succeeded!” Dorian hollered, loping toward him.  Aodhan _shifted_ , sliding into ice and Fade, moving nearly too quickly for Dorian to follow.  He coursed through another spike of red lyrium, causing it to crumble as he rematerialized thirty feet away.  “Come here and talk this through, would you?  You’re being childish!”  He’d seen mages in Tevinter do this a thousand times, of course – the equivalent of a magical tantrum – but it was usually something outgrown by the teens.  He’d certainly never expected it of _Aodhan_ , the man who was usually gentle to a fault.

“Childish?” Aodhan roared.  He shot his fist upward, another blizzard gathering up itself above his head.

“Stop it!”  Dorian’s dispel field shut the blizzard down again, and Aodhan gripped his staff with both hands, wielding the thing like a sword.  He panted, bludgeoning another outcropping of lyrium with the staff, beating it again and again.  Chunks of lyrium went flying.

Dorian swore, then took a deep breath, reaching, reaching, _there_.  The world _shimmered_ , and slowed, his breath seemingly taking a lifetime to leave his parted lips.  He ran forward into the bubble of slowed time, reaching Aodhan’s side before the other man could complete one more full swing of his staff.  Dorian grabbed hold of his arm just as the bubble popped, and life rushed back at full speed.

“Dorian,” Aodhan said, glaring.  He heaved, his hair slick with sweat, his face red and blotchy.  “I want to be alone.”  Ice suddenly flowered over him, forcing Dorian’s hand off Aodhan’s arm as it grew in a thick, spiked coating.  “I won’t ask again!”  He shifted once more into a streak of blue and white, ricocheting off a statue just as he stepped back into reality.  

He staggered, falling to his knees from the impact, his staff snapping with a mighty crack as he fell.  He dropped the pieces and clenched his hands into fists, sending a rain of disorganized stone at the broken staff until it lay there, pulverized.

Something descended over both of them, a heaviness that sucked the color out of the room and left Dorian feeling drained.  Aodhan’s magic sputtered, winking out entirely.  Dorian turned with an effort and saw Cullen standing there, hand outstretched, face grim with concentration.   _Ah._  So that was what it felt like when a templar dispelled an area; it felt so different from a mage’s version.  It felt _wrong_.  Dorian grimaced at the hollowed-out feeling surrounding them.

“Now you’ve done it,” Dorian hissed.  “ _Enough_ of this.  Tell me what this is about.” He marched over to Aodhan and hauled him up by the arms, trying to ignore the frigid chill that still lingered over his skin.  He realized, horrified, that Aodhan was bleeding; a nasty gash had opened over his cheek, bleeding profusely.

“Let me, Commander,” said Vivienne, coming up behind Cullen.  He hesitated, then nodded, perhaps not wanting to further escalate the situation.  

Vivienne raised her hand, enclosing Aodhan in a barrier.  He started at the sudden intrusion of her magic, staring at her with wild eyes.  The barrier did not hold him in place, but the sensation was soothing, as Dorian knew.  Almost comforting.  Why hadn’t _he_ thought of that?

“My dear Inquisitor,” she said quietly, looking incongruously put together among her surroundings, ruined as they were.  “You have lost control of yourself.”

“And why shouldn’t I be angry?  Maddox could have been me.  Or you, for that matter!  Tranquil for a bloody misdemeanor!” he snarled.  “And he and the other templars in Kirkwall let it happen!”  He threw a furious look at Cullen, still breathing hard.

_Ah._  So that was what this was about.  Dorian fought a sudden wave of nausea, thinking of the man’s unseeing eyes.

“The emotion is rarely the problem,” said Vivienne, “it is merely the way one handles it that becomes an issue.”  She crossed her arms.  There was a hint of sadness about her.  “You are not the only one disgusted by the loss of that man’s life.  I pity him, and his fate is unjust.  But raging this way will not change what has happened.  I believe Commander Cullen also regrets what has happened, having spoken with him to understand what… upset you so.”

“You’re protecting him?  You’d rather side with the _templars_ than with your own people.”  Aodhan gaped at her.  Dorian shook his head.  Vivienne’s insistence on mage servitude was astounding, but despite what she said, her words were working to calm him where Dorian’s efforts had failed.  He had to admire her for it.

“This isn’t about templars and mages –” Cullen began, but Vivienne gave him a sharp look.

Varric joined them, slinging his crossbow over his shoulder.  Wisely, he must have hung back until the magic stopped flying.  “ _Not_ a good time, Curly.  Look, you gotta understand how Kirkwall sounds.  It’s not good, and it never was.”  He surveyed the damage to the room, then looked back to Aodhan, his expression softening.  “You okay, Freckles?” he asked.  

“Varric –” Aodhan began, but faltered.  He hung his head.  “I don’t know.”

The barrier around Aodhan faded gently, but Vivienne did not renew it.  Cautiously Dorian let go of Aodhan, and sighed with relief when he stood there listening, though Dorian wished he would put some pressure on that wound.

“Please understand, Inquisitor.  I side with _reason_.  Even if that man was made Tranquil under false pretenses, Samson was the one who used him,” said Vivienne.  She frowned.  “We can both agree that the Kirkwall Circle was a fiasco for years before its annulment, for mage and templar alike, can we not?  But threatening your own safety is not the way to discuss it, darling.”  

She took Aodhan’s hand in her own, tilting her head slightly, and laid one elegant hand on his face.  The laceration began to knit, the blood flow slowing noticeably.  Vivienne’s healing was not as elaborate as a spirit healer’s, but it was more than sufficient for the battlefield, though the wound would probably scar.  

“The matter need not be settled now, and I do not think it is.  There are deeply troubling aspects to this entire scenario.  But surely you can see that this…”  She glanced at the ice slicking the room, the shattered staff at Aodhan’s feet, the half-healed wound on his face.  “It accomplishes nothing.”

“We’re not in the Circle anymore, Vivienne,” Aodhan said.  It was almost a plea.  “I can scream if I – I’m – I’m _allowed_ –”

“You can do whatever you wish, of course,” said Vivienne gently.  “But is this what you truly want?”

Aodhan sagged with exhaustion, deflating.  He swallowed.  “No,” he said in a hoarse voice.  “I _could_ lose control.  But it’s not… this isn’t me, is it?”

“That’s for _you_ to answer, my dear.  Remember; we’re not in the Circle.”

And for a moment, Dorian could see something pass between them, an understanding he’d never shared and never would.  Then it was gone, and Aodhan knelt to slowly gather the fragments of his staff from the floor.  Dorian nodded to Vivienne in thanks, and she smiled, but the motion was cursory.  She left them, standing a distance away with Varric and Cullen but still keeping a careful watch.

Dorian knelt beside Aodhan.  He did not say anything at first.  Instead he simply helped him try to gather the pieces of his staff, but it had splintered quite badly.  He wondered why Aodhan was even bothering, but he piled little pieces of the handle between them anyway.

Aodhan broke the silence, his voice cracking.  “I’ve… I’ve gone and been a real arse, haven’t I.”

“It seems to me,” said Dorian cautiously, “that there is rather a lot for you to be an arse about, actually.  There has been for some time, hasn’t there?  I’ve never seen you so angry.”

“I don’t think I ever _have_ been that angry,” said Aodhan, looking tired.  He gingerly touched the wound on his face, wincing.  “It wasn’t allowed before.  But all of this… I couldn’t stand it.  I had to do something, and I didn’t know what.”  

“Did it help?”

Aodhan stretched his mouth in something like a smile, though it was off.  “No.  Not really.”  He considered.  “But now I know.  I don’t actually _like_  being angry.”  He winced, shifting a little.  “I’m bloody sore. I might have to sleep for a week to recover.”

“I’ll join you, of course,” said Dorian.  He tried to aim a flirtatious wink at Aodhan, but it was difficult when he was so _worried_ about the other man.

“Sounds lovely, Dorian.”  His fingers stretched out over the floor, flexing and unflexing as if he wanted to grasp something but had forgotten what it was.  “Tranquility was… like a dirty word.  Ostwick only had a handful.  I rarely spoke to them; most of the mages didn’t.  They frightened us, you see?  Thinking it could happen to us.”  Aodhan brushed a few more hunks of his staff toward the pile they had started to make.  “But I always told myself it would only happen to me if I dealt with demons, or if I’d done something truly forbidden.  I never did.  I kept my head down.  So even though it frightened me, it was always… several steps removed.”  

“What did happen here, exactly?”

“Maddox had the Rite of Tranquility performed on him against his will in Kirkwall.  Cullen told me when we got this lead.  Samson used to pass Maddox’s love letters outside the Circle for him.  Supposedly it was ‘corrupting a templar.’  It sounds funny now, doesn’t it, as if Samson hadn’t corrupted all of them by now.”  His voice was dull.  “It bothered me at the time, of course, but I didn’t realize until I _saw_ him how abhorrent it truly was.”

“Someone could be made Tranquil for that?  Sneaking letters?” Dorian asked, astonished.

“You’re not in Tevinter anymore, Dorian.”  

“I… suppose not.”

Aodhan was quiet for a moment.  “Cullen told me what happened to him before the Inquisition,” he said abruptly.  “A few months ago.  D’you remember he seemed ill, around then?”

“I do,” said Dorian, wondering why Aodhan mentioned it.  “He’d put off two of our chess matches, and he didn’t seem quite right.  It wasn’t like him.”

“You know that our templars use lyrium, yes?”

“Yes,” said Dorian, suppressing a shudder.  “Bloody maniacs.”  Imagine anyone but a mage using lyrium!  What’s more, he had seen now what these southern templars could do, and it was quite alarming to be at the other end of those abilities.

“Cullen stopped taking his.  That trick he pulled on us, dispelling our magic?  It might have knocked us out if he’d still been on lyrium, instead of just slowing us down.  But the templars pay for it.  It can kill you, if you’ve been taking it every day and you stop.”  Aodhan’s hands paused in the middle of sorting metal fragments.  “I did some research after I learned about it.  We use it in such dilute amounts because it’s so powerful, but the templars don’t bother with diluting it the way mages must.  They get lyrium-addled, over time.”

“Has that happened to Cullen?” asked Dorian cautiously.

“He remembers some things more than he should.  Or wants to.”  Aodhan’s jaw clenched.  “Ferelden’s Circle fell to blood magic and abominations.  We’d heard rumors, of course; you always hear something, even when they pretend nothing’s gone on.  Templars shift to this Circle or that, and they can never resist talking, and someone’s always friendly with them even when they shouldn’t be – at any rate, he was there, dreadful things happened to him, and he grew to hate us all for what they did to him.  Mages, I mean.  And Kirkwall’s Knight-Commander hated us even more than he did.  Is it any wonder he never spoke up when men like Maddox were made Tranquil?”

“I didn’t know,” said Dorian, disquieted.  He’d thought he and Cullen had an accord, an understanding in their little games and occasional chats.  He’d always enjoyed their time spent together.  Could the man really have hated mages so much?  It was unsettling.  He thought of Maddox’s face, waxy and pale.  What would it be like, to be _that_?  Horrifying beyond imagination.

“I think he’s only told a few of us,” said Aodhan.  “I wish I could say that lyrium had clouded his judgment, that that was the reason why he could have let the Knight-Commander do the things she did.  Because I don’t want to believe that someone who cares so much for our cause – who I thought I rather _liked_ , and who I thought _respected_ me, despite my magic – could have stood by and let this happen.”  He let out a long breath.  “I suppose I should speak with the man.”

“Perhaps when we get back to Skyhold,” Dorian suggested.  Despite Aodhan’s improved demeanor, Dorian did not think it wise for either man to try and sort things out today, remembering the rubble all around them.  “It’s rather chilly here, you see.  And I’m positively covered in splinters.”

Aodhan laughed, a short, barking sound.  Briefly he looked like himself again.  “How you put up with me and my uncertainties, Dorian, I’ll never know.”  He straightened up and kicked the pile of shards they had collected.  

Dorian stood up, then slid his arms around Aodhan’s waist and kissed him tenderly.  “You are insufferable,” he murmured, their lips still touching.  “But you’re passably handsome, so at least there’s that.”

“That’s a relief, then,” said Aodhan, hugging Dorian hard as if hanging on.  “I don’t know what I’d do without you, honestly.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, amatus.  You couldn’t lose me if you tried.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very tricky writing Aodhan and Vivienne together. He disagrees with her about a great deal, but respects her highly regardless. Aodhan is my most self-insert character when it comes to mental health, and like me, finds confrontation extraordinarily difficult, even when he’s right. Just throwing that out there.


	3. Just Like Old Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen talks through what happened with Varric, who provides some perspective.

Cullen closed the door to the War Room, letting Josephine and Leliana go on ahead.  He watched them go for a moment, a heavy feeling in his chest.

He had finished giving them his report of what happened at the Shrine of Dumat.  He thought that with Dagna’s help and the tools they had found that Samson could be defeated.  But there was the troubling matter of the Inquisitor, who had made a point of avoiding him ever since their return; the trip home had been marked by tense, careful politeness on both sides, as well as mutually orchestrated efforts to avoid one another.

Josephine had taken the news quietly, then asked Cullen if there was anything else he could have done to keep Aodhan Trevelyan from losing control.  He’d been forced to admit he’d been distracted, focused on trying to find Samson instead of attending to the state of the Inquisitor.  

Leliana had looked saddened, but not surprised.  “An unfortunate outburst,” she said, “but I understand his anger.  The Circles have been sick for a long time, Commander.”

Cullen had had little answer to that.  He only had to look as far as his headache, mild but insistent, to know she was correct.

Cullen sighed, rubbing his forehead.  He’d had a difficult last few nights.  Old dreams of Kinloch Hold, laced with memories of Kirkwall; Orsino’s ghastly visage, Meredith’s mad red eyes, and smaller remembrances, too.  Ser Thrask, a noble if lenient templar, found dead on the Wounded Coast.  Maddox being led away by two templar recruits, bruises on his cheek, terror in his face; he knew what awaited him.  Samson begging in the streets with gaunt cheeks and hollow eyes.  

And casting a shadow over all was the memory of the Inquisitor wreathed in ice, tormented, bloodied, close to weeping.  

_I should’ve known,_ Cullen thought, finally making his way down the hall long after the other two advisers had exited. _I should never have left him alone._  But would it have done any good?  When he looked back now, Aodhan had clearly been trying his hardest to restrain himself until he could be on his own.  If Cullen _hadn’t_ left him, might a worse confrontation have erupted?  He flexed his hands, remembering the rusty dispel force he had called into being.  His templar skills were atrophying without the steady supply of lyrium, but even so, he could have summoned a smite and knocked the Inquisitor unconscious.

He could not imagine a worse betrayal of trust between a former Circle mage and a former templar, but if he had had no other choice, he knew he would have tried.

Cullen found himself in the great hall, squinting at the bright lights in the hall and the loud voices of gathered nobles.  Perhaps this would be the night Aodhan felt comfortable approaching him; he did not think he should be the one to force the conversation, if the Inquisitor was not ready.   He wondered if he should wait in his office.  But he heard his name – or one version of it –and he turned.

“Curly,” said Varric, nodding to him.

“Hallo there, Varric,” said Cullen, joining him by the fireside.  He warmed his hands for a moment.  They were always cold these days, despite his gloves.  “Working on any new books?”

“Taking a break from the strains of best-selling authorship,” said Varric.  “But you know me.  I’ll have some new trash out in a few weeks.”

Cullen snorted.  “I’ve read a few of them.  Don’t tell Aveline, but _Hard in Hightown_ ’s not bad, and you know it.”

Varric laughed.  “That’s the one that got you, huh?  Well, better than what hooked Cassandra – never mind.  She’d kill me if you knew.”  He glanced around at the busy hall.  “Want to grab a drink?  It’ll be just like old times.  You know, all those times we cozied up with the big scary templar and our apostate buddies at the Hanged Man.”

“What – oh, yes, they were grand, weren’t they,” said Cullen.  How foolish, for a moment he’d almost thought Varric had been serious about _old times_.  “All right then, it’s either that or look at troop movements for the next few hours.  I could use a pint.”

They trudged out of the great hall to the Herald’s Rest, Cullen enjoying the fresh air.  His debriefing with Leliana and Josephine had taken the better part of the afternoon, and he was relieved to be out of doors, if only for a few moments.

In the tavern, Varric and Cullen found a free table in the corner.  Cullen picked up two pints of Fereldan ale from Cabot and settled into the seat across from Varric.  Varric took an experimental sip of his drink and commented, “You and Hawke have similar taste in ale.  You Fereldans always like a beer you can stand a spoon in.”

“It’s not worth drinking if it’s not a good stout,” said Cullen stubbornly.  “Marcher ale is always so… watery in comparison.”

“Because it’s not _freezing constantly_ in the Free Marches,” sighed Varric. “It actually gets, you know, warm now and then.”

“There is that,” Cullen admitted.  They were quiet for a moment, and Cullen took a draught of his ale, savoring its richness and body.

“So,” said Varric.

“So,” said Cullen.

“You wanna talk about what happened?”

“Ah,” said Cullen.  “I wondered when you would get round to that.”

Varric shrugged.  “Well, scuttlebutt says the Inquisitor’s been avoiding the crap out of you, even since we got back.  Stands to reason you’ve been avoiding him, too.  Wanna talk it through?”

“I was trying to give him the freedom to choose his own terms,” said Cullen.  “I didn’t want to rush him, if he wasn’t ready to discuss it.”  He sighed.  “I regret the whole affair.  Not being able to save Maddox.  Misreading the situation.  Not being able to defuse things before they reached the point that they did.”

“I’m glad Vivienne was there,” said Varric.  “I know she loves her Circles, and Freckles couldn’t wait to be out of his, but in a weird way they get each other.  Hard to think of her being warm and fuzzy, but he trusts her.”  He shook his head.  “Every mage I’ve ever known gets wiggy about Tranquil.”

“I can understand the fear,” said Cullen.  “Even in cases where the mage was clearly a risk to others, there was a part of me that would have preferred the executioner’s axe.  It seemed a greater kindness.”  Still, though, as he spoke he wondered if he could ever truly understand it.  It was something that he knew would never truly affect him the way it could a mage.

“Hawke used to have nightmares about it,” said Varric softly.  “She’d never met any Tranquil before Kirkwall.  She didn’t like to talk about it much, and she was always kind to them, but they scared her, too.  You could just tell.”

“Hawke always seemed so confident,” said Cullen, surprised.   _Hawke_?  She had always acted indestructible, ready to dash in and save the day.  He had admired her for it, remembering when he’d been so idealistic.  She had been one of the first mages since Kinloch Hold to remind him they could be people, too; one of the reasons he had risen up against Meredith in the end.   “Even in the Gallows, she always seemed in control of the situation.”

“She’s good at that, yeah, even when she doesn’t feel it.  That’s just her style.”  Varric took another drink.  “It actually didn’t surprise me when Aodhan lost his shit back there.  It’s always the quiet ones.”

“I should’ve been paying more attention,” said Cullen ruefully.  “I was blinded by my desire to get to Samson.”  

“It’s funny.  Freckles’ll stand up to Corypheus, and freaky demons, and giant _dragons_ , even, but I think you’re the one who scares him.”  There was no malice in Varric’s voice, no taunt; just a plain statement of fact.

Cullen stared into his pint, his hands tightening around the mug.  He wanted to argue.  Wanted to insist that Varric was speaking nonsense, that Aodhan knew Cullen meant only the best for the Inquisition, that they were on the same bloody side.

But he remembered the way Aodhan had bent – no, _bowed_ his head.  He had forced himself into subservience.  And Cullen had bought it, having seen it from so many mages over the years.  In that moment, it had felt _natural._  The thought turned his stomach.

“I think you’re right,” he whispered.  “How do I fix it?”

Varric nodded.  “I know you aren’t Meredith, Curly.  You saw the way things were, in the end.  And I think you want to change things now.”  

“I do.”   _Maker_ , he wanted that.

“So does he!  So you’ve already got something in common,” said Varric.

“I can’t just – I’ve seen the evil mages are capable of,” said Cullen.   _Demons tearing, whispering, caressing, the smell of blood –_ “I don’t know if he and I will ever fully agree on what should become of mages.”

“You don’t have to agree, not completely,” said Varric patiently.  “Like I said, you’ve got Madame de Fer waving a flag for Circles in one corner, and Sparkler insisting that magisters are the way to go, and Freckles is somewhere in the middle.  But he’s comfortable with both of them.  Well, more than comfortable with Dorian –”

Cullen chuckled.  “True enough on both counts.  Perhaps you’re right, Varric.”  

“‘Course I am.  Reading people is kind of my _thing_ , Curly.  You think anyone would read my books if I didn’t know shit about people?”

Cullen raised his mug, clinking it against Varric’s.  “You’ve got a point there.  I shall defer to your expertise.”

“You’d better.  So here’s what you do…”


	4. On Trial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Aodhan discuss what happened in Kirkwall.

Aodhan paced back and forth on the battlement leading to Cullen’s quarters, trying to tell himself he wanted the exercise.  That wasn’t it, of course; he was nervous and pretending that he wasn’t. **  
**

He leaned over the wall, taking in the mountains before him.  The air was so crisp, so open here.  Nothing like the breeze he could catch in the Ostwick Circle’s garden, stifled and moist.

He didn’t want to do this.  But he was the Inquisitor, and Cullen his commander.  They could not remain at an impasse and still manage the Inquisition armies effectively.  There was now nothing stopping them from their assault on Corypheus except themselves.  He _had_ to do this.

He turned on his heel and knocked at Cullen’s door.

“Come in,” called Cullen.  Aodhan pushed open the door.

He did not spend a lot of time here in Cullen’s office; usually they spoke in the War Room, though he had confronted Cullen here about the lyrium problem.  Aodhan had pitied him at the time, feeling a flash of understanding.  He hadn’t known about the addiction that gnawed the templars, though now he realized why they always grew so restless when lyrium stores were low.  And the tales Cullen shared of Kinloch Hold still chilled him.  

He had thought after Cullen confided in him that they had a rapport.  But now Maddox and the other sins of Kirkwall lay between them, and he felt caged.

“Have you got a moment?” Aodhan asked.

“Of course, Inquisitor,” said Cullen, clearing away a chair covered in parchment and books.  He gestured to it, setting himself down in the chair across from it.  “I’ve… been expecting you.”

Aodhan sat down.   _You are not on trial here_ , he reminded himself.  He still felt as if he had been called into the First Enchanter’s office, or worse, the Knight-Commander’s.  “Right.”  He folded his hands in his lap.  The silence between them prickled.

“I’m sorry for what happened at the Shrine of Dumat,” said Cullen abruptly.  “I had not thought enough about how my history might affect you, given that you grew up in a Circle.  I should have been more astute.”

“Actually, I was taken when I was twelve,” said Aodhan.  “I’d done some growing up already.  I still remember my family, which is more than some can.  Though if they remember me, who can say?”  His lips made a thin line.  “That’s beside the point, though, really.”

“That must have been… difficult.  There is much we do not know of each other, even now,” said Cullen.  He shifted in his chair, bending forward so that the space between them lessened.  “You wished to know how many Tranquil there were at Kirkwall’s Circle while I was there.  I have the list here, if you desire it.”

Aodhan noted the narrow window in Cullen’s office, the brief glimpse of sunlight it afforded.  He kept his gaze fixed firmly there.  “The number is important, and it isn’t.  How many of them, in your estimation, _required_ Tranquility?  That is to say, their magic was so dangerous to themselves or to others that they had been possessed?  Or they killed others with blood magic?”

Cullen closed his eyes.  “Perhaps… perhaps half of them.  There truly was a great deal of blood magic, confirmed with bodies, confessions, established demon sightings.  You can ask Varric.  It was a true threat, and it was either Tranquility or execution.  Most chose Tranquility.”  He looked steadily at Aodhan.  “But  I will not mince words.  The other half, Inquisitor –”

“Were people like Maddox.  Mages who put a toe out of line in the wrong Circle.”  Aodhan got to his feet, restless.  He began to pace again.  “Sometimes there were whippings at Ostwick.  Solitary confinement.  I was rarely affected, I think because of my name.”  Perhaps the only thing it had been good for.  “It all seems a little quaint now, knowing what I do of Kirkwall.  You see, the only Tranquil mages in our Circle were those who’d asked for it.  I think the idea made Knight-Commander Cordren squeamish, and the First Enchanter was passionately against it.”  

He went to Cullen’s bookshelf, reading down the line.  Books of war.  Three copies of the Chant of Light.  History books.  Tomes he suspected Dorian would enjoy.  He pulled out one of the copies of the Chant, gripping it as if it might anchor him.  “Why didn’t you speak against it, Cullen?  If you knew it was wrong? It _piths_ people.”  His voice was faint.

“Because I believed it _wasn’t_ wrong.”  Aodhan snuck a glance at the other man, who looked grim.  Ashamed.  “I thought that even if the crime they had committed was not so great, Tranquility would prevent a worse one in future.”

“Yes,” said Aodhan harshly.  “Why don’t we make every mage Tranquil ahead of time?  It’d save so much trouble, don’t you think?”

Cullen shrugged hopelessly.  “There was a templar in the Kirkwall Circle who thought similarly.  I thought he went too far, that there was no need for mages who had done nothing to be made Tranquil.  But did I stand up to him?  No.  I am not that man now, though I must live with the choices I made then.”

“So you’ve said before.”  Aodhan fumbled with the book in his hands.  “But knowing you were wrong is not enough.  Not for me.  Not for the other mages, Cullen.”  He shivered.  “I tried so hard to rein myself in, back at that shrine.  I couldn’t.”

“I know you did.”

“I – I wanted to tear it all down.  Everything to do with the place.  It was all I could think to do.”  He wanted to explain himself, but he had trouble finding the words.  

“I understand the impulse.  Perhaps we should have let you continue.  But in the moment, we feared for your safety.”  Cullen’s voice was tinged with regret.

“I can see that.  I know Dorian was worried,”  Aodhan sighed.  “He’s never seen me do something like that; honestly, I’ve never _done_ something like that.  I’m not entirely sure I liked it.”  

In the moment it had been freeing, roaring out destruction for its own sake, not letting himself think, just _feeling_.  It had also been terrifying.  The Veil had thinned as he had raged, eager demons pressing against its confines, waiting for him to let them in.  It would have been so easy to call them forth….  Aodhan worried the edge of his lip with his teeth, thinking.  “I still carry that anger, Cullen, but it’s not something I’ve been used to expressing.  Never got the practice.  Can you imagine if I’d done that in the Circle?”

“All too well,” said Cullen.  “It would not have ended as cleanly it did.”

Aodhan imagined templars’ strong hands around his wrists, the throb of lyrium-induced emptiness, a faceless voice speaking a sentence of Tranquility.  He didn’t know what the ritual itself was like, of course; he felt hollow thinking of it.  “I always told myself I wasn’t angry, that I ought to make the best of things.  This was the first time I – didn’t.”

“I’ve felt that same desire to lash out,” said Cullen heavily.  “At times, it is the only option that seems available, even if it may change little.”

Aodhan flipped through the pages, spotting notes in the margins of some verses.  “When did that strike you?  Did you used to lash out at mages?”  His hand was very still on the page, hovering over handwritten scrawls in Cullen’s handwriting.  The writing was frenetic, severely smudged.

“I exploded at _anyone_ I suspected of using blood magic.  Sometimes, toward anyone who had the misfortune of being a mage,” said Cullen,  his face drawn.  He fidgeted with his hands in his lap.  “I regret it.  There were times I was profoundly in error.”

“How could you have stayed?  When the templars committed so many atrocities?  When you cosigned torture and abuse?  Varric has told me some of it; we’ve been talking.  I suspect he has not told me everything.”  Aodhan tried to read the notes, but he could not focus on them.

“I did not know what else to do.  It seemed right at the time, and I respected Meredith so; all the more for the trust she put in me.”  Cullen’s mouth twisted.  “I should have seen she was mad long ago.  I should have questioned her.  I should have remembered the mages were my _charges_ , that despite their abilities they were still people.  That I was to protect them, too.”

“But you were just following orders, is that it?”

“That is a coward’s excuse.  I still should have known better.  I did, once,” he said harshly.  Cullen ran a hand over his face.  “I joined the templars to help.  Instead, the templars have caused immeasurable harm; to the mages, to the Chantry, to their own members.  I… think I understand how you feel, Inquisitor.”

“What do you understand?  You still don’t see it!” exclaimed Aodhan.  “I _never_ expected the templars to help me.  You’re coming at it from a place of wanting one thing from them and receiving another.  Whereas I simply hoped they wouldn’t _kill_ me!  It isn’t the same.”  Aodhan flung the book down onto Cullen’s desk, scattering sheaths of parchment.  His hands balled into fists.  

“You’ll never know what it was like with templars watching over your every move.  What you eat, what you read, who you fuck – and that’s all it is, isn’t it, because you _can’t_ have more.  Knowing you can never go home, until the years pass and you realize you _have_ no home, no family.  Do you know what it’s like not being able to see the sun unless you’re a _good mage_ , just _behave_ yourself and you’ll get a treat?”  His hand found its way to his mouth, and he bit viciously at the skin around his fingernails, tearing at himself until he bled and his fingers stung.  He couldn’t stop it, and he didn’t care.  “Do you know what it is to be _caged_?”

“ _Inquisitor_ ,” said Cullen, getting up and rounding the desk.  He reached out his hand, and Aodhan cringed.  Had he gone too far?  Would this be the time Cullen called forth a smite, knocked him into unconsciousness?  He’d heard about it, yes, that weapon of templars that left a mage stunned, senseless, ready to be captured.  He trembled, waiting.

Instead he felt a hand touch his arm, questioning at first, then stronger.  There was a warmth in the other man’s touch that surprised him.

Aodhan looked at Cullen, and forced himself to lower his hand from his mouth.  Dots of blood welled up from the wounds.  Embarrassed at the loss of control, he crossed his arms, tucking his hands into the bends of his elbows.  “I – I thought you might –”  He left the sentence unfinished, not wanting to confess the fear that had come over him.  Slowly he stopped trembling.

“I know.”  Cullen looked at him gravely.  “I have been caged before, Inquisitor, and I have known fear.  But you have – I see now it is not the same.”

He let go of Aodhan’s arm. “I know I have much to atone for.  I will never be able to fully understand what you have gone through, but… if you wish to share it with me, I will listen.  That is up to you, but regardless, I will try to do better.”  He rummaged in his desk, pulling out a handkerchief.  “Here.  For your hand.”

“Thank you,” said Aodhan awkwardly.  He blotted his hand with the handkerchief, then folded it up and stuffed it into his pocket.  The mundane action was soothing, somehow.   _Well, he didn’t accuse me of blood magic.  That’s promising._

“You’re welcome,” said Cullen.  “It is my hope that here, with the Inquisition, I can help people who need it.  Mages.  Templars.  People who are neither.  And people like Maddox.”   He brushed his fingers over the copy of the Chant, tracing a pattern over the cover.  “You’ve already helped me, more than I perhaps deserve.  I may never be able to make up for all that I have been part of, but I intend to do what I can.”  

Aodhan swallowed.  He crossed his arms, looking back at the man in front of him.  “If you could listen, and try to understand, then so might others.  Maybe there could be room for a solution.  I don’t know.”  He sighed.  “I want to believe you.”

Cullen held out his right hand.  “That’s enough for me, Inquisitor, if it’s enough for you.  If it is not enough…”  He hesitated.  “Then I will take my leave, and consider it an honor to have served.”

Aodhan tilted his head, looked at the other man standing with his hand outstretched.  He remembered precious gardening days in the Circle, wondering what the stars looked like, hoping his family missed him.  He thought of doors that could be locked from the outside, the little reminders that they could never leave.  He thought of torture.  It bore many faces.  Some wore templars’ helms, others mages’ cowls.  He knew he could not mend it all.

“’Comfort is only the Maker’s to give’,” Aodhan said softly, remembering where the scrawls in the book margins had been.

“’For He is the Fire at the heart of the world,’” answered Cullen.

“Transfigurations,” said Aodhan.  “I always liked that canticle, too.”  He took Cullen’s hand, shook it once, twice, thrice.  “You know I cannot give you comfort, Commander.”

“Nor do I ask it of you,” said Cullen, breaking off their handshake.  “I know that if it comes, it will be Maker-sent.”

“I hope it does.  For all our sakes.”  Aodhan nodded to him, making his decision.  “I think that despite everything, we are where we’re meant to be.   Whether it is chance or the Maker’s will, we have done good work in the Inquisition, and I think we can do more.  Do stay, Cullen.”

“I am at your ready.”  Cullen smiled.  Aodhan smiled, too, and felt some of the tension within him begin to fade.  There might always remain a wariness, but it did not press so badly, now.  “There is but one other matter, Inquisitor.  I spoke with Mother Giselle, as you had asked –”

“Yes,” said Aodhan.  “We should proceed.  We can both pay our respects.”


	5. Purpose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maddox is laid to rest, and Aodhan moves forward.

Dorian found Aodhan in the garden at sunset, the shadows growing long and blue around him.  He sat on the bench by the herb garden he tended so assiduously, prophet’s laurel and crystal grace waving gently in the evening breeze.  Dorian never failed to marvel at how lush the plants were.  Skyhold ought to have frozen them, but Aodhan was dedicated to their care, and it showed.   **  
**

There was a book in his lap in which he was deeply engrossed, bent over it so he did not see Dorian coming.  Dorian recognized it by the heavy, careful script and the chapter headings. _The Unabridged Chant of Light._  It looked like a rather worn copy.

“Is this seat taken?” asked Dorian.

Aodhan startled, then smiled.  “Never, if you’re the one asking.”  He gestured to the seat beside him with a toss of his head, his red hair fluttering in the breeze.  

“Just the answer I like to hear,” said Dorian, settling down beside Aodhan and slipping an arm around him.  Funny, how natural that felt, despite the fact they were here in the garden where anyone could see.  He still found it difficult to believe.  Only a few months ago he would’ve been wary just sharing the bench with him; now he appreciated the breadth of Aodhan’s shoulders beneath his arm.  

“So…  The big question.  How went your chat with the Commander?  You seem relaxed, almost, which I admit surprises me.”

“I’m feeling rather better, at any rate,” said Aodhan.  He closed the book, keeping his thumb between the pages as a marker.  “‘Relaxed’ might be a bit strong.  But better, certainly.”

Dorian considered as an elven recruit made her way around the garden, lighting the lanterns for the evening.  It lent the garden a soft, ethereal glow in the last vestiges of the setting sun.  “What happened?  If you’d like to discuss it, that is; I would understand if you didn’t.”

“I want to talk about it,” said Aodhan.  “Or rather, I believe I probably should.  Get it out of my head and all that instead of carrying it around.  While I’m feeling better, I still do not quite feel myself.  Not yet.”

“I had noticed,” said Dorian softly.  “You’re quite good at pretending otherwise, and a lesser man would be fooled.  But I’ve made rather a study of you, Inquisitor Trevelyan, and you’ve not been yourself since we’ve been back.”

Aodhan chuckled ruefully.  “What gave it away?  The vague moping, or the pensive staring off into the distance?  I’m very good at both.”

“You weren’t _moping_ , amatus,” said Dorian firmly.  Self-deprecating jokes were one thing, but Aodhan _did_ carry it too far at times.  “It was small things, if you’d like to know.  You weren’t finishing your breakfast, and you’ve been going to sleep far too early.”

“Perhaps I’ve been watching my girlish figure,” said Aodhan, batting his reddish eyelashes.  They really were absurdly long.  It simply wasn’t fair for such a large, sturdy man to be _pretty_  as well.

Dorian laughed.  “You _are_ a treasure, you know.”  His smile faded.  “I also noticed you speaking with some of the Tranquil, and spending a great deal of time with our dear Madame de Fer.  Quite a bit more than usual.”

“We’ve had some good talks, yes.  And I thought I owed it to the Tranquil to make a better effort to understand them,” said Aodhan.  “But none of that is particularly damning, you must admit.  You really didn’t see the moping?”

“It wasn’t moping, as if you were some silly youth with a heartbreak.  You’ve been deep in contemplation.  I can tell.  Besides, you think you’re the first to go about your life as if everything is fine, when it most assuredly is not?  I’ve danced that line before, and I know,” said Dorian pointedly.

Aodhan kissed him.  “I suppose I should be glad you know me so well,” he said.  “I guess that explains you constantly bringing me tea, and books, and chocolate the past few days.  I was starting to wonder.”

“I was doing no such thing,” said Dorian breezily, though he was relieved Aodhan had noticed.  The tea had mostly gone undrunk, and the books had remained where he had left them.  The chocolate, though, had gone readily.  “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re referring to.  Though if you wanted to tell me about your conversation, you do realize you’re stalling, yes?”

“Ah, you noticed?”  Aodhan looked uneasy.  “I thought we might just banter incessantly for a while and you’d forget you asked.”

“I’m very astute, Inquisitor.  It’s one of my _many_ talents.”

“Mm,” said Aodhan.  He leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees, and set his book aside.  Dorian noticed a new bandage on his index finger, and winced.  Aodhan continued, not realizing Dorian had seen.  Someday, he hoped he and Aodhan could find a better way for him to manage distress.  

“It was a good talk, I think,” Aodhan said.  “Difficult for us both, but we needed it, after –  I had to know if he was more templar, or more commander.  Because even if he wishes otherwise, the Circle is part of him.  As it is for me, no matter how _I_ wish otherwise.”

“If there is anything I could do,” Dorian began, troubled.  

Aodhan shook his head.  “It’s not your hurt, Dorian.  It means a great deal to me that you would offer, but I do think it’s something I’ve mostly got to sort on my own.  I’ve started now, at least, and that’s something.”

Dorian took him by the hand, cradling it in his own.  It was cool and calloused.  He carefully avoided putting any pressure on the bandaged part.  “All right.  But you tell me if there’s anything you need, anything at all.”  He reconsidered.  “Well, perhaps I’d decline to spatter Cullen all over the walls.  It’d be so tedious, scraping him off.”

Aodhan snorted loudly.  “I admit the thought hadn’t occurred to me, but now it’s gruesomely entertaining.  I don’t think such a service will be necessary, but you are an evil, evil man.”

“Yes, an evil Tevinter, remember?”

“My _favorite_ evil Tevinter.”

Dorian watched him carefully.  He was smiling, handsome as ever in the dim, soft light, but Dorian still worried for him.  

Aodhan yawned, then clapped Dorian on the knee, getting to his feet.  “I’ve been sitting for too long today.”  He straightened, turning to face Dorian.  “ _Ah_.  There’s so much _space_ here.  I will never get enough of it,” said Aodhan.  Dorian watched as he laced his hands together and stretched upward to the darkening sky.

“I’ll not say no to the view, either,” said Dorian, leaning back and crossing his arms, jutting his leg out in front of him.  “So which was Cullen, in the end?  Templar, or commander?”

“He _was_ a templar.  He was everything wrong and foul about them.  But I think he’s trying.  He’s said as much to me before, several times, but it meant something more this time.  I _needed_ it to mean more.”

“How does that sit with you?” asked Dorian.

“I’m still angry about what he was a part of, before the Inquisition.  But I believe he wishes to make amends, and that will be enough.”  Aodhan looked sad.  “It’s plain that Kirkwall was the cruelest Circle in recent memory.  No one left it unscathed.  Least of all people like Maddox.”  Aodhan glanced up at the sky, squinting at the crescent moon rising just above the garden walls.  “Come on.  We’re going to be late.”

“Late for what?  Have we a social engagement I’ve forgotten?”

“I meant to tell you earlier, but time got away from me.  We are laying Maddox to rest,” said Aodhan, bending down to pick up his book.  “They’re heading to the chapel now.  Will you come?”  He looked at Dorian hopefully, the lamplight playing over his face.  Dorian had not yet gotten used to the new scar on his cheek, even though the redness was fading.  

Dorian felt an ache in his chest, an urge to wave his hand and _fix_ all of it.  But that was not within his power; he had known it in the Shrine of Dumat, and he knew it here, in the bright little garden Aodhan cared for so.  There were deep wounds there he could not heal.  Just the same as Aodhan, despite all his love and care, could not mend a father’s blindness, nor his cruelty.  Some things were only up to the one who had lived them.

 _This_ , though… he could help with this.

* * *

It was small, and it was quiet.  Mother Giselle stood at the front of the cramped little chapel off the garden, her head bowed, waiting for them to file in.

Vivienne moved to the front row, stern and soft at once, taking Aodhan’s hands in hers for just an instant before passing.  They were warm and stronger than he would have guessed.  Of course, they’d had to be.  He nodded to her, grateful in more than one way.

He had asked the next two to come.  Helisma and Clemence had not known Maddox.  But they both had purpose; a purpose that did not include their sacrifice, their _use_.  He thought they might like to be included.  He had invited them, shyly, stumbling, saying they did not need to come if they did not wish it.  He had wanted them to have the choice.

He still felt unsure near the Tranquil, even after everything.  He wanted to change that in himself.  They deserved to be seen as they were now, not only as they once had been.  They all deserved that grace.

Helisma and Clemence stood near each other in the chapel.  Dorian found a space near them.  Aodhan could see it made him uncomfortable to be so close to them, reminded of their fate; it was something about the way he angled himself, slightly, so as to only see them from the corner of his eye.  But then Dorian shifted and pulled a copy of the Chant from the pew before him, holding it so Helisma could read it with him.  It heartened Aodhan to see it.

Cullen shuffled into place beside Clemence, his hands steady as he held another book to share.  Aodhan was glad he had come.  He had been at Maddox’s side, at the end, and if this helped Cullen to remember that mages, Tranquil or otherwise, were worth remembering…  

For a moment his eyes met Aodhan’s.  

Aodhan saw shame there, raw and real, mixed with a naked sorrow.  Cullen’s sorrow was not the same as Aodhan’s, but here in the hushed air of the chapel, with Mother Giselle’s gentle voice singing the Chant, he could accept Cullen’s pain for what it was.  Different in every way from his own, except the ways it wasn’t.  Ways that mattered.

Aodhan looked to where Maddox’s body lay, shrouded in white.  He closed his eyes, gripping his book.  You belonged to no one but yourself.   _I’m sorry.  May the Maker keep you, Maddox._

The Chant surrounded him, familiar and unchanging.  Strange.  The Chantry had let him down in so many ways, and yet the Chant had always been there for him, one of the few things he could make his own in the Circle.  Mother Giselle’s song filled his ears, reminding him of who he had been then, who he was now.  They were not the same.

He glanced down at his hand, felt the slight sting of new wounds; he remembered the half-healed line jagged on his cheek.  He thought of stone walls and garden rows, sunbursts and red lyrium, fire and ice, a shattered staff.  He remembered fifteen long, grey years.  They weighed on him; oh, they were heavy.

_O Maker, hear my cry:_

_Seat me by Your side in death._

_Make me one within Your glory._

_And let the world once more see Your favor._

Aodhan mouthed the words that followed, and something in him loosened, unknotted, let go.   _Let go._

_For You are the fire at the heart of the world,_

_And comfort is only Yours to give._

He breathed in, and he breathed out.  

Tears dotted the pages below him, smudging the ink, but he was not ashamed.  He was comforted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this story has been satisfying to read; it was certainly an interesting one to write, and I found myself considering new angles on a story I thought I'd known well. Hope you've enjoyed reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Worked very hard on this fic and hope that it resonates. Any comments would be greatly appreciated.


End file.
